


It’s Too Cliche, I won't Say It

by Good_bi_Dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel is Bad at Feelings (Supernatural), Castiel is Not Innocent (Supernatural), Castiel is Not Oblivious (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Can't Say "I Love You", Dean Winchester Has a Panty Kink, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester is Not Heterosexual, Dirty Talk, Drunk Dean Winchester, Drunk Sex, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eye Contact, Eye Sex, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Repressed Bisexual Dean Winchester, Smut, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_bi_Dean/pseuds/Good_bi_Dean
Summary: A fluffy smutty fic for Valentine's Day.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 94





	It’s Too Cliche, I won't Say It

The hunt had been successful. Dean, Cas, and Sam had kicked major monster butt. Dean was riding high on the adrenaline, the amazing way it felt to get a win, and with his two best people by his side, fighting with him. They were a team- the Winchester Team, and it was the best feeling in the world.

Cleaning up hadn’t even been so bad. Dragging the bodies together to be disposed of so that they would no longer pose any type of threat, wiping down the splatters of monster guts, making sure the evidence of their presence was all wiped clean, even those tedious details when the fun part is over… it was a routine that he’d grown accustomed to, they’d developed a rhythm. It felt so good to be in that rhythm, to celebrate their victory.

Lately it had seemed like victories were coming further and further apart, and there had even been so many setbacks. Sam and him had had a few blow-ups about the secrets that they just can’t stop keeping from each other, “for their own good.” He’d blown up at Cas for practically no reason, hurting the angel’s feelings and causing him to withdraw, which Dean had felt acutely and painfully. Dean noticed that his feelings were getting harder and harder to push down, and usually they just came out in explosions.

Dean wasn’t quite sure  _ why _ it made him feel tense and sort of angry when Cas had mentioned his tryst with Meg, but he had the distinct feeling that Cas had been throwing it in his face somehow. He told himself that it gave him a sense of doubt about the angel’s loyalties, and he felt it too. In his chest, he felt a tight sinking sensation of discomfort and panic. But it made no sense. 

Logically Dean knew that Cas’s loyalty to the Winchester’s-- to their cause, to their friendship, to their brotherhood-- was and always would be unwavering. So why did the memory of Cas shoving Meg against the wall and plastering his lips on against hers make him question that? Not logically, but emotionally. Not in his head, but in his body… It felt like treatury. And he couldn’t… or wouldn’t-- he didn’t know-- but he wasn’t about to mention it to Cas. It didn’t make any kind of sense and there really weren’t words he could sort out to in order to lodge a complaint, so he said nothing. And it came out at odd times, in blaming Cas for things he knew weren’t his fault. In snapping at him over the smallest dumbest things. He knew perfectly well he was doing it but he just couldn’t seem to make himself stop.

But him and Cas had gotten to a good place. And him and Sam had too. Everyone had made up and was getting along and flying high on their first really big win in a long time. Dean beamed the biggest grin during cleanup, exchanging a loud high five with his brother and frequent silent messages of pride and affinity with Cas. One of the things he really loved about his friendship with Cas was how they were able to communicate without words so often. Dean was… well, Dean wasn’t great at using his words. But the looks between him and Cas often made that all so unnecessary. Of course he had a similar shorthand with his brother, but there was something a little different with Cas. Something extra.

After the cleanup was done, they’d all gone to the bar for a few celebratory drinks. Sam had caught the eye of some hot little number, tossed his tip money down on the table and said, “Don’t wait up.” With the bunker to themselves and quite a lot of alcohol running through their systems (well Dean’s anyway, since alcohol doesn’t affect angels), they ended up-- predictably-- naked bodies askew and entangled on Dean’s bed, their clothes in a bunch on the floor, save for the damn trenchcoat being neatly folded over a chair. 

It was the last calm, level headed thing that had happened. Cas had followed him to his room, ostensibly to re-watch Tombstone. Dean didn’t even bother looking for the remote. He sat down on the bed and watched as Cas calmly removed his trenchcoat and folded it over the chair. Then the angel turned and gave him  _ that look _ . The one no one but Dean ever saw and only when the two of them were alone. The look that didn’t require pesky words.

Dean had risen from the bed and practically floated to his angel… those forearms finally not covered by the trenchcoat. Cas was well aware of how Dean responded to those shirt sleeves rolled up the way they were. In seconds, Dean’s hands were caressing the angel’s forearms and a second later they were in his hair and their lips were pressed together. Who needs words? Dean had other uses for Cas’s tongue and he searched it out hungrily. Cas’s participation was enthusiastic and reciprocal. This part of the routine was as well practiced as any other and they quickly found their rhythm. 

To be completely honest, they had been in their rhythm the entire night. Nearly every detail of tonight's hunt had been some form of foreplay. And Sam wasn't completely oblivious… Dean had seen the eyerolls, the hand gestures, the shrugs. Even the pleading in his eyes, although Dean was never quite sure if it was, “knock it off, I can see you… at least wait til I leave the room,” or “just come out with it already, I can’t stand the suspense.” Dean wondered sometimes just how much Sam knew, but for some reason, he still had that need to keep up pretenses. Yet Sam, in his own unspoken dignity, always made sure to give them their space- to figure it out, to do… whatever it was they did. Sam probably didn’t want to know the details.

From that point in the game, Dean was very quickly unbuttoning Cas’s shirt and then his pants and Cas was just as fervently pushing aside Dean’s flannel and lifting his faded t shirt over the hunter’s head. Working his hands over the outside front of Dean’s body hugging jeans. He knew it was a tease, That Dean would have preferred he just yank the pants off and get to business. But Cas figured if Dean was gonna tease him all day… and sometimes weeks... by wearing those pants, that Cas would tease him right back by making him keep them on a little longer. Making Dean squirm before giving him the satisfaction of peeling the denim down off of Dean’s thighs was so much of the fun.

It was funny how a bit of alcohol made Dean’s bravado drop to practically nonexistent. For all of his macho posturing, Dean was just a whimpering puddle of neediness and capitulation. In hunting and in life, Dean liked to take charge. But with this- Dean preferred to follow, to be given direction. Maybe it was his soldier training, or maybe it was a way to avoid accountability. Hell maybe both. But Cas took the lead and Dean followed leader like the beautiful deferential submissive that he secretly was.

When he finally dragged Dean’s jeans down over the hunter’s hot ass, Cas let out a primitive groan at the sight of Dean's hot pink silky bikini bottoms. “You did that on purpose,” he growled into Dean’s crotch. Caressing Dean’s front side with his face while Dean purred in agreement. Dean knew that the panties affected Cas in much the same way as Cas knew how his toned and exposed forearms affected Dean. It was those little things that were just for and between the two of them. A signal that they had been on each other’s minds as they prepared for their day. That this moment was planned, despite all the posturing that it was just some moment of drunken spontaneity. 

There was the act- always keeping up the act. Always playing innocent. Always pretending that these moments together were unexpected, unintentional, random, undesigned. Dean needed that sense of deniability, plausible or not. And Cas was understanding. Cas had stitched that boy together lovingly, piece by piece. He knew the whys he knew the hows. He knew them better than Dean did. And Cas was understanding and Cas was patient and Cas was devoted to doing what was best for Dean. For giving him what he needed.

Cas always got about ninety-five percent of what he needed, and he knew that Dean was also lacking a certain five percent in the exchange. The ability to be completely free and honest with himself. To totally let go and face the truth- embrace his truth. To fully accept himself to the point where he could fully receive and feel worthy of, everything Cas wanted to give them.

Each of them had that small missing piece of true and complete happiness. But the missing piece was so small and so easy to disregard a vast majority of the time. Of course there were hours and minutes sometimes where the silence was deafening. Whether together and still longing for each other in other ways, or apart and silently hoping or wishing for the final piece to fall into place. Yeah sometimes that little bit of emptiness reared its head and made itself known. But they'd gotten to be experts at covering, at hiding from it. At denying it in the moment and taking the best from their time together and forgetting the rest.

Dean Winchester was the champion of pushing down feelings- good or bad. And maybe that’s partly why it was so easy for him to allow Cas to take the lead in this. To order him to his knees, to push him against the wall. Dean was a sucker for the forcefulness that Cas expertly exerted. Dean could see how Cas could lead armies. Dean was an army of one, and Cas was his “oh Captain my Captain.” It was incredible how much Dean felt completely at Cas’s mercy. And how fulfilled that made him feel. Every single time.

When Cas pushed him, face first, into the wall and pressed his muscled body against his, dean didn’t fight back. When he felt Cas’s erection align upright and erect parallel against his skin, sinking in between his butt cheeks, he was putty in Cas’s hands. When Cas’s chin was just above his shoulder and his breath in his ear, it was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling under.

Dean wasn’t sure why it was so exciting and thrilling and damn right  _ arousing _ to have his angel toss him around so roughly. To growl his commands into Dean’s ear. To press into him in almost threatening ways. Maybe the reenactment of those fear emotions, with someone he trusted so implicitly gave him a needed sense of both control and abandonment of need to control. He knew if his knees did buckle, his angel would hold him up. Yet he wanted his angel to be proud, to be pleased. It helped him-- in these moments, and in all moments of his life-- to be the best him. To stretch and try to be better than he thought he could be. So he managed to stay on his feet while his angel mercilessly taunted him with all nine thick inches of man meat, knowing full well what Dean wanted him to do with it.

Because against the wall, Cas only teased. His hands explored while his member rubbed against Dean’s aching desirous body. “The only one,” Cas simultaneously whispered and growled in the hunter’s ear, “wearing you to the prom tonight, is gonna be me.”

And fuck did Dean crave that. He craved hearing those words and he even craved the way that Cas teased him. The way Cas made him wait when he could barely contain himself. Dean’s breath was ragged and fast. His voice came out in a whimper so unlike his usual staccato. Yet Cas… Cas was fond of informing people, “I don’t sweat under any circumstance.” Cas was cool and in command. His breathing was even and smooth against Dean’s exposed shoulder. Cas was driving Dean… drunken, slutty, wanton Dean completely wild. While Cas remained completely in control.

And that thought alone made Dean want to shoot his load. No way was he gonna give in to that urge, it was way too soon for that. But felt it with every fiber of his being. And he could feel the inevitable orgasm building. And he knew that Cas was 100% in control of that too. Cas owned it.

Pressing him into the wall, Cas made sure he knew that. Dean fucking loved the words coming out of Cas’s mouth right then. “Tell me who owns your orgasm tonight, Dean.”

Dean panted, “you…” came out breathlessly. “You do…”

“What’s that?” the angel insisted.

“You do Cas. You own my orgasm tonight.”

“Just tonight Dean?”

“Every night Cas”

Cas flicked his tongue out against Dean’s earlobe.

“Every night Cas,” Dean repeated. “You know that Cas. You know that my orgasm belongs to you.”

“Mmm… yes…” Cas responds. “I know a lot of things,” he adds cryptically. 

Dean just whimpers. Dean Winchester fucking whimpers and lets Cas drag him to the bed because once they hit the bed Dean knows what he’s finally been waiting for. What he can’t say when he’s sober and only says when Cas orders him to.

“Get on your knees Dean,”

And fuck Dean is ready. Dean is ready for it. He’s ready for the whole nine inches.

Cas may not have spent a lot of time as a human, but when it comes to this particular human instinct, Cas knows what he is doing. Cas spreads Dean’s legs and get’s Dean wet in the easiest way possible. Cas isn’t afraid to use his tongue to drive Dean even wilder. Once on the bed, they are like animals, no holds barred. Even Cas gives in to his desires and his desire is to possess this hunter in his entirety. And once he’s well slobbered on from Cas enthusiastically lapping tongue, he’s more than ready.

And now Cas presses the tip of his cock against the opening of Dean Winchester, just as ready to be inside of his favorite human. His hands are on Dean’s hips as he holds it for a moment. “What do you want, Dean Winchester?”

Cas has never in public, used Dean’s full name. And rarely in private. But there is something special in hearing it now. Something formal and oddly intimate.

“I want… I want…”

“You know you have to say it,” Cas rumbles.

“I want you to fuck me good, Castiel. Angel of the Lord.”

Cas runs his hand over Dean’s hair and back in an affectionate motion. “I’m your angel Dean.”

Dean takes a ragged breath in but speaks clearly. “Angel of mine.”

Cas plunges in deep now, taking Dean’s ass and owning it in the way that Dean craves. Nine inches sunk deep inside of Dean. Dean is not the mother fucking Michael Sword. Dean is the mother fucking Cas Sheath. Dean’s fucking vessel belongs to no one but Cas and they both know it.

“Fuck Cas, yes. Fuck my ass good.”

“Beg for it Dean.” Cas orders the hunter to do exactly what the hunter most wants at this moment. To beg. For Cas.

“Fuck me hard, Cas. I need it hard. You know what I need Cas. I need you. I’m begging Cas. Fuck me hard and good like only you can.”

Everything that happens after is a blur of lust, frenzy, intensity, heat, fire, electrical storm, lightning, thunder, passion, desperation, need, want, demand, ache, requirement, addiction, enslavement, freedom, fireworks, explosion, pain, pleasure, death and rebirth.

And then they are just lying in each other's arms, catching their breaths, feeling content, feeling so close to one another, so naked in body and soul. Wrapped around one another, entangled and not knowing where one begins and the other ends and not even caring. A silent shared moment of divinity. Knowing that they have touched heaven together and not quite floated all the way down to earth yet.

“How do you feel?” Cas enquirers as he places a kiss on Dean’s forehead.

“I feel amazing. I feel good. I feel… happy.”

“Mmm… Me too.” They enjoy that moment, feeling their bodies hum.

After a moment, Cas says, “There is a word for when someone makes you feel this way.”

“Oh?” Dean plays dumb, a little surprised that they’ve taken this turn in the conversation when usually they are so good at avoiding it. Avoiding words. Especially… certain words. Words like want and care and even need are ok in extreme circumstances… but that’s as far as Dean can go. He’s not entirely comfortable with those words. They make him feel so vulnerable, so exposed. It’s a reflex by now to avoid too many words of the emotional variety.

When an emotion wells up, Dean’s first instinct is to take a drink. At least then if the emotion shows itself, Dean has an excuse. A cover. But Dean’s already been drinking and Dean is naked in bed with Cas’s body entwined with his and he’s not anywhere near a fridge. He’s already drunk but he still feels a bit of panic. So he plays dumb. “What uh… what word w-would that be?”

“Oh, I’m not gonna say it,” Cas says, surprising him a little. “No, no… not out loud anyway.”

“Well uh..” Dean clears his throat. “Me either. I mean,” Dean coughs. “It’s too cliche anyway. We don’t… we don’t need sappy words.”

Cas lets his eyelids close for a moment. “Maybe we don’t. Maybe we do.”

The silence is not entirely comfortable.

Cas may not sweat, but he does break. He looks back at Dean and kisses him again clumsily. “There _ is _ a word Dean. And it’s a good word. And if I never say the word and you never say the word, just know…” time compresses to a single point and freezes there. Cas trails off. “It’s a good word.”

Dean takes Cas’s hand and squeezes. He’s not good with words, especially that one, and that’s not gonna change today. But he can do  _ something _ . He can give Cas  _ something _ . He can give himself something.

“You know.. Uh,” the Hunter clears his throat again. “Today is.. Today’s February 14th.”

“I noticed that,” Cas responded quite simply.

“Yeah so uh,” he tilted his head quickly and a slight smile formed on his lips. “You know…” his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and managed to look adorable and even a bit shy. “Happy Valentines Day, Cas.”

“Happy Valentines Day, Dean.”

Then they just turned toward one another in bed and gazed into one another’s eyes for approximately 5 minutes. Their eyes said the words that their mouths would not.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! I did write this quick in order to have it for Valentines day. I hope there aren't too many errors. Thank you in advance for all of your awesome comments, kudos and for recommending my story to anyone you think might enjoy it.
> 
> I am open to both praise (naturally) and constructive feedback as long as it's polite. Questions and conversations too. So pretty please leave comments they make me as happy as a hunter wrapped up in his angel's arms. :) 
> 
> And don't forget to follow Chad Lindberg on Twitter for what we are all hoping and expecting to be a Destiel Valentine Wedding of a Lifetime! Formal attire or flannel!!!!


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